Washington Holiday
by etienneofthewestwind
Summary: A chance conversation sends Charlie to look up an old friend just as said friend could use one.  In the process, he might discover more...  First season both series, pre-Sniper Zero.  Reid/Charlie friendship.  Some Charlie/Ian preslash.
1. Chapter 1

**Washington Holiday**  
**by étienneofthewestwind**

**Disclaimer:** Ownership—Nothing that entails a monetary claim.**  
Summary**: A chance conversation sends Charlie to look up an old friend just when said friend could use one. In the process, he might discover more...**  
Note:** Since Criminal Minds season one aired the Day of the Dead episode in April 2006, I decided that the episodes aired in fall 2005 took place in spring of that year.

* * *

"Dad, it's Charlie. Something came up last minute, and I had to fly across the country. I'm sorry I couldn't let you know sooner, but I wanted to be at the airport to get a flight as soon as possible, but I didn't expect to able to get one so quickly… Anyway, I've landed safely at Dulles, and I need contact my friend, and fin—check into a hotel. I'll call in the morning. Please let Don know, and give him my love. I love you. Bye."

A young man of almost thirty quit talking and pressed a button on his cell phone. He was dressed in jeans, blue button-up shirt and a tan jacket with a black laptop bag slung over his head and left shoulder. He sighed and ran a hand through his curly brown hair as he looked around the room. Various people milled about. Charlie looked down to his phone and started dialing another number. Hallway through, the baggage carousel sprang to life, luggage dropping down onto the conveyer. Charlie put the phone in his jeans pocket and snatched up the black bag that tumbled down the slide after the first few pieces. After checking the ID tag to rule out a similar bag, he slung the strap over his left shoulder and strolled through the airport toward the door. Once outside, he leaned against the building's white wall and pulled out his phone again. Keeping in mind an old piece of advice, his brown eyes tried to keep watch for anyone too interested in him as he dialed.

"Hey, Spence, it's…"

* * *

"Where's Charlie?" Don Eppes asked after he and his team gathered in his fath—_Charlie's_—house. He could see Larry and Amita, Charlie's colleagues from CalSci in the living room.

"He's not with you?" his father asked. "He'd said something about wrapping things up at your office."

"We finished an hour after he called," Amita spoke up from where she sat on the couch.

Don absently admired the way the light fell on her silky, black hair and her dark skin. _No, _he told himself firmly. _She's for Chuck._ He knew from high school that Charlie reacted poorly when Don dated his crushes. And besides, the Indian woman was a math whiz; that was Charlie's world, not his.

"We ran by CalSci so he could do some work," Amita continued. "I did some research for my thesis and assumed he came here."

Alan Eppes shook his head. "I haven't seen him since morning." He frowned and walked over to the phone. "I'd better call and check on him."

"Chuck probably just lost track of time, Dad," Don tried to calm his father down. However, he worried too, despite knowing the truth of his words. As an FBI agent, he knew of so many things that could happen to ordinary people, and Charlie could be so much more oblivious than the average person...

"I know," his father replied as he pulled the phone out of its charger, "but—Did either of you hear the phone ring?" he asked Larry and Amita.

Both shook their heads. "Why do you ask?" Larry said.

"We have voicemail." Don watched his father run a hand through his wavy, gray hair as he dialed into the mailbox. After a minute, Alan hung up the phone and asked in confusion: "Who the heck does Charlie know in DC?"

"DC?" Larry asked. The red-haired man looked as confused as Don felt. "Charles corresponds with academics all over the world, but I don't recall him mentioning anyone specific in DC."

"Well, he just flew across country to meet some friend. It sounded like a last-minute emergency, though he wasn't too clear. Landed twenty minutes ago, and said he'd call again as he soon as he checked into a hotel."

"_A _hotel?" Don asked sharply. "He doesn't have a reservation?"

"Apparently not," his father replied sourly. "Though he tried to hide that in his message."

"Damn it, Chuck," Don reached up to massage his temple as one of the headaches only Charlie could produce flared up. He loved his brother, but sometimes he thought the only thing they had in common were a Y chromosome and their hair. And Don kept his cut short enough that it usually did not curl. "It's like ten in DC."

* * *

Ian Edgerton hung back as the profilers walked from the Bureau SUVs to the plane. The crisp night air had that mustiness that signaled approaching rain. Too bad the plane would take off long before it arrived; Ian always enjoyed a good downpour, and the wild energy of a thunderstorm would draw out his frustrations. He considered himself a patient man, but when called to help out on a case, Ian felt the need to do _something_. This time around, he had been unnecessary. By the time he arrived, the BAU team had all ready reached all the conclusions his sniper expertise could provide, and more.

Not that he wanted to have arrived in time for the third shooting's reenactment-a sniper instructor made an obvious choice to role-play an unknown shooter, and Ian liked his head bullet-free.

Still, his arrival time left him with little to do than act as a potential counter-sniper. Ian did a little to help out with the grunt work, but before long the team stumbled across their shooter. Literally. The unknown subject—a nurse named Phillip Dowd—had spotted the FBI presence and grabbed his rifle, concealing it under a lab coat. He sucker-punched one of the BAU, a Dr. Spencer Reid, with the rifle butt and took everyone in the emergency waiting room hostage, including BAU team leader Aaron Hotchner. The location precluded a sniper attack, and Ian could only stand aside as the local SWAT prepared to storm, his offer of assistance rebuffed.

In the end, the two profilers took Dowd down before the locals could do squat, either.

Ian gazed silently at Hotchner's back. He had worked with the stern man when he was in charge of a Seattle investigation team and member of SWAT. Ian would not have thought the man capable of relating civilly with someone like Dowd. Yet he somehow manipulated Dowd into moving all the civilians out of the line of fire and then secured permission to repeatedly kick Reid. That allowed Reid to grab Hotchner's backup piece out of its ankle holster and plant a shot in the center of Dowd's forehead. Hotchner's scumbag act had the civilian hostages still showing fear of him, even after Reid's loud explanation to the local officers.

Frowning, Ian turned his attention to Reid. The youngest profiler on the BAU team, Reid had chin-length, mousy-brown hair with loose curls, and a scrawny build. He walked and talked with a demeanor that telegraphed a lack of confidence. All said, the kid looked more suited to academia.

Ian was pulled from his musings when Reid's phone rang. "Hello," Reid answered. "Charlie!" he exclaimed, no longer sounding exhausted. "Because only two people in the world call me Spence, and you're not female. Or about to board a plane with me, for that matter..."

Ian choked back laughter and paid closer attention to the young doctor's conversation. It would not eliminate his frustration, but any amusement he could wring from the situation would help. Around him, he noticed the other agents were also interested in Reid's conversation.

"No, we have time before lift-off. And I know for a fact that all the phones the team uses work on frequencies that won't interfere with our navigation equipment. Not that a cell connection would be that stable past lift-off, and it's still an FCC violation… No clue… Yeah, I _live _there. I don't stay in the hotels. Hold on," Reid shifted the phone so the mouthpiece hung down over his throat. "Some of you guys have families, right? Do you know of decent hotels that're unlikely to be full for—What was the convention again?" Reid asked into the phone. "_That's _that big a draw…? No, I just didn't realize that it was that popular… Yeah, I know. Anyway, nobody's saying anything. If you don't want to be stuck calling every decently rated place, maybe you should just come up Monday… Oh. When do you…? _Oh_... I can see why you wouldn't want to make those calls in a crowded—Wait, where are you now…? I'm not sure that's safer… Just because no one looks like they're listening, or sticking around… Look, quit leaning against the building and go back inside; get something from concessions. With current weather patterns, our flight should take approximately seventy-three minutes. It'll take some time to get to your location, but it shouldn't be that much longer. You can use my spare room tonight, and we'll figure out the rest tomorrow... Yeah, but I think in this case you were hoping to... Don't worry... I want to discuss that last set of equations with you, anyway... It depends on my workload, and what you want to do in town."

They reached the stairs leading up to their plane, and the group filed into a line to climb up. Distracted by his conversation, Reid bumped into Derek Morgan. "Sorry," Reid muttered to the muscular black man. "Look, Charlie, we're at the plane and people are staring, so I'd better get off. What exit are you by?" Reid followed Morgan up the steps. "Okay. Stay there, and I'll see you in a couple of hours... Goodbye."

"So who was that?" Morgan asked as soon as Reid pocketed his phone.

"A friend." Reid replied as he followed Morgan into the plane.

"That we've never heard of," Morgan replied. "Come to think of it, we've never heard of you having any friends."

"Morgan!" the blonde woman—Jareau, if Ian remembered correctly—hissed. Behind him, Ian could feel Elle Greenaway's eyes burning a hole into Morgan. One did not have to be a profiler to see that the women on the team were protective of their whiz kid.

"What? You're not curious?" Morgan protested as Ian found himself a seat. "Come on, kid: spill."

"Spill what?" Reid asked seriously before a covert smirk crossed his face.

"Reid..."

"He's a guy I went to MIT with."

"I don't remember MIT on your resume," Hotchner commented.

"I was still CalSci's student. I participated in an exchange program to join a specific project related to my engineering thesis. Charlie was there working on his physics dissertation. Anyway, we've kept in touch."

"Have you seen him at all since MIT?" Jason Gideon asked as he sat down in front of a chessboard, inviting Reid to play with a wave of his hand. Ian studied the older man's face. The glint in those brown eyes spoke of fatherly concern. Ian could not blame him: the young prodigy seemed even younger in terms of his social development. An older student may well have wanted to take advantage of that. On the other hand, it could just be someone who liked discussing physics and engineering with a younger colleague. Or mentor him.

Reid shook his head. "It'll be nice catching up face-to-face."

"Your time at MIT would have been nearly ten years ago—"

"No," Reid interrupted Gideon. "It was—"

"The exact number doesn't matter," Gideon made his opening move. "It's just that it's a long time for someone to call and ask to stay with you."

"He didn't ask; I offered." Reid started his game.

"So I heard," Gideon moved his knight. "Is everything all right with him? It sounded like he took off in a hurry."

"Frighteningly so, considering the time between his ticket purchase and lift-off. You'd think today's security requirements would take longer."

"What was his rush?"

"He just decided that he needed to take a vacation, and asked for the first flight to DC the ticket agent could book him on. He's done impulse trips before."

Ian slipped his sketchbook out of his bag. "You were right," Reid said to Gideon. "You _don't_ need a gun to kill someone." Ian blinked at the abrupt chance of topic as Reid paused a moment. "But it helps."

Ian smiled; he appreciated the sentiment.

* * *

"Thanks again for the ride," Spencer said as they walked into the airport. "You didn't have to do this."

"It's okay," Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau replied. "It's not that far away, and I don't mind. Besides, after your day, you shouldn't have to deal with cabs." And she wanted to meet Spencer's friend. While he had told her a few things about Charlie waiting for the Redskins game a few weeks ago, she remained as curious as the rest of the BAU. She just was not as overly concerned as Gideon. True, the socially reserved Spencer did not make friends easily, but she trusted his judgment in people.

They made their way to the nearest food court. A handful of people sat scattered at various tables. Spencer bit his lip as he looked around. "There he is," he pointed to a booth in the corner. Sitting with his back against the wall, Charlie had his feet propped up on the black suitcase on the other end of the bench. A soft briefcase or laptop case sat on his lab, strap slung over his shoulder and chest the way Spencer carried his tan messenger bag. A stack of papers sat on the case, the top one had a couple pages turned over. The end of a red pen tapped on the paper, in sync with the bobbing of Charlie's curly head and the tapping of his right foot. As JJ and Spencer started walking to the table, Charlie abruptly flipped the pen over and marked something on the paper. Then he reached for the coffee cup on the table next to him. As he took a sip from the cup, he glanced around the area. He looked back down at the paper. A split second later, his head popped up.

"Spence!" Charlie abruptly pulled earbuds out of his ears. He hastily capped his pen and shoved the stack of papers back into a folder which he shoved into the case, along with what looked like an iPod. By the time JJ and Spencer reached him, he had zipped up the case and had turned to slide out of the booth. He grabbed his suitcase, stood and, when he looked up, blurted, "What happened?"

Spencer looked puzzled, and Charlie gestured at Spencer's face. In the past few hours, a large, blue and purple bruise had blossomed on Spencer's left cheekbone from where Dowd had hit him. Personally, JJ thought it looked more painful than Spencer claimed. "Oh. I got blitzed with the butt of a rifle. It was a long day." He quickly turned to JJ. "Jennifer Jareau, Charlie Eppes," he said while gesturing at each of them.

Charlie smiled at her and shook her hand. "JJ, right?" JJ nodded. "Pleased to meet you. I've heard good things from Spence."

"Likewise," JJ replied as she shook Charlie's hand. "Spence doesn't speak highly of many people from his school days."

Charlie chuckled. "Neither do I. But he speaks _very_ highly of everyone on your team."

JJ blinked in surprise and glanced over at Spencer. "Thanks," she replied, feeling flattered. "It's a great group of people to work with. So, what brings you to Washington?"

Charlie looked sheepish. "Spring Break started Thursday, and I realized I need a break from more than just teaching. I just didn't expect the city to be so popular this weekend."

"Speaking of which, I thought grading was why they invented TAs." Spencer sounded amused.

Charlie scowled. "Usually. But this was a paper, not an exam with right or wrong answers to problems."

"Not your favorite part of the job, Professor?" JJ asked as they turned to leave the airport.

"Charlie. And no. I prefer the teaching to the testing. Though all things considered, it could be worse."

* * *

"Evaluation or recruitment?"

Aaron Hotchner looked up from his paperwork on the Dowd case. The rest of the BAU had all ready gone their separate ways. Reid took off with JJ to fetch his mystery friend from Dulles. Morgan had left shortly after, though Elle and Gideon stayed to finish their own paperwork before they left. Aaron had assumed the sniper had gone off on his own.

"What?"

"I am here to be evaluated or did someone get the idea that a past interest in psychology makes me interested in profiling?" Edgerton's question left Aaron more puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

Edgerton gave him a sour look. "I didn't request assignment to your Des Plaines case, and you certainly didn't need or want my presence. Yet, I have been instructed to continue 'assisting' your team until further notice. Obviously someone thinks they're clever."

Aaron frowned as he set his pen down. "I thought you had the luxury of choosing your own cases."

"So do you, but there's always limitations and the occasional hot potato that the higher ups insist on. With my medical status still in question, my choice of cases is limited."

Now that he mentioned it, the notice Aaron received on Edgerton's arrival _had _said something about restricted field duty. Aaron tilted his head and studied the other man. Tall, tanned and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes that suggested Asian or Native American heritage, Ian Edgerton looked healthy. Though he seemed tired—Had since that afternoon—and had not eaten much when the team grabbed dinner.

"You really don't know anything?" Edgerton asked.

"No. But I'll find out what's going on." Aaron closed his folder. "_Would _you be interested in profiling?"

Edgerton shrugged. "All of us need to be able to read people and put ourselves in the suspect's head to some degree, or we're useless to the bureau. But the type of cases your team deals with… What you see every day… It's needed, but I don't know how you can do it."

"Not everyone can. Just like not everyone's suited for sniping." Aaron handed Edgerton a pad and pen. "We brief new cases weekdays at ten am when we're not in the field, but can be called in at any time. Give me your cell number and I'll call you if something comes up tomorrow." He frowned and glanced at the clock. "Today, and I'll try to get some answers on your assignment Monday."

"So will I."

* * *

"That's... rough," Charlie said awkwardly as Spencer poured him a cup of black coffee. "I know that you did what you had to, but to kill someone…"

"I know," Spencer replied as he grabbed a can of sprite. He sat down across from Charlie. In middle of the round table sat a small pizza. The edge next to the wall had a stack of literary and scientific journals. "I know I'll feel something eventually, but all I feel now is glad that I actually made my shot."

Charlie blinked as he thought about it. "Yeah, I guess people dying if you miss ramps up the pressure."

"Especially since I'm not a good shot on a great day," Spencer admitted as he grabbed a slice of their late-night snack. "Actually, I failed my requalification this week." He paused and turned to the clock over the oven. "I didn't think I could make the shot, but I knew I _had _to, if didn't want Hotch—And likely other hostages—to die. That terrified me more than when Dowd pointed that rifle between my eyes."

"You made it _because_ you had to." Charlie blew on his coffee to cool it. "Fear's a powerful motivator."

"Fear's a powerful source of adrenaline. Adrenaline makes it harder to keep your hands steady."

"But you did it. I doubt I could." Charlie picked a piece of onion off the top of his pizza slice, and popped it into his mouth.

"Considering you've never held a gun, no, you couldn't."

"I meant kill someone," Charlie started picking mushrooms off his slice. "If I were in a spot where I had to kill to protect myself or others... I'm afraid I might lose my nerve. I don't think I could live with myself if I allowed others to die—Granted, I'd probabilistically have been killed too, but if I wouldn't have been, but one or more others had—I couldn't ever forgive myself. Though... Look, what I'd do isn't important next to what you _did _do, and if it's something that's hard hypothetically, I'm sure I can't begin to imagine what it's like in real life, but you did the right thing." Charlie tossed the entire slice's worth of mushrooms into his mouth and hoped that despite his nervous babbling, Spencer had gotten his point. And that it was helpful.

Or at least did not rub salt into his wounds.

"'I did the necessary thing.'," Spencer said softly, softly staring at a scratch on the tabletop. "'That is not always the same as the right thing.'" Spencer looked up, and gave Charlie a ghost of a smile. "Babylon 5, season one, episode twenty-two, 'The Quality of Mercy'. This terminally ill doctor found an alien device an extinct race had used to execute criminals by draining their 'life energy' to cure terminal illnesses. She wanted to find a way to adapt it to use small amounts of donated energy without harming the donors, but an escaped serial killer took her daughter hostage to force her to treat his wounds. The doctor realized he planned to kill them both and used it to kill him with her disease. The doctor's view of what she'd done struck me as odd at the time, but now that I've had to do the necessary thing... I think I like the sentiment."

Charlie frowned thoughtfully as he picked up the remains of his slice and took a bite. "You don't agree?" Spencer asked.

Charlie shrugged and swallowed. "I've never thought about it like that. In a case like this, I guess I figured the right thing _was _to do what's necessary."

Spencer chuckled. "Whatever happened to 'it doesn't matter what anyone else does, it's never okay to kill'?"

Charlie grimaced at the reminder of one of his more foolish pronouncements. "Aside from the fact that you _know _that didn't come out as intended... If we were to speak hyperidealistically, I'd still say... Well, I'd make it less stupid sounding, but we're both too realistic to think that the world could ever come close to ideal."

"That'd be too boring, anyway," Spencer muttered. He sighed and snagged another slice of pizza. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing, Spence."

Spencer tilted his head and gave Charlie a look that reminded him of his own mother. "Charlie, you haven't done impulse vacations since before you broke up with Susan. And even then, you made sure you had lodging _before_ you left."

"Well, I'm long overdue then, aren't I? And if I'd stayed in practice, I'd have specified the earliest flight that'd give me time to make lodging arrangements." Spencer continued staring. Charlie sighed. "I just needed a break. A chance to de-stress and think some things through... It seems a bit petty to be fussing about after your day."

"Good. I'd love to focus on the petty instead of my day."

Charlie studied Spencer through narrowed eyes. He could not tell whether his friend truly meant that, but the FBI agent clearly intended to get the story. "I've all ready told you. Sort of. My dad's still pushing the idea of my dating Amita, despite being her thesis adviser. I just can't get him to understand that breaking that rule _is _a serious thing, but I thought I'd learned to ignore it. Then today, Amita and I are leaving after I've helped Don with a case, and Don decides to come up and be all big brotherly 'hurry up and ask her out, or someone just might steal her away'. It was exasperating, yet I nearly cracked up at the way he played like hewasn't interested in her himself. Then I realized that the conversation he interrupted might have sounded like I was about to ask her out and wanted to deck him." Charlie tore the crust off the remains of his pizza and began shredding it. "Then—"

"Why did Don think you were about to ask her out?"

"I don't knowthat he did, but he _has_ gone out of his way to cut me off and snag the girl before…" Charlie sighed, and downed half the crumbs, chasing them with half the coffee. "I was thanking her for her help over the past couple of weeks, and started to ask if she wanted to come to a little party to celebrate my buying the house when Don cut me off. I invited Larry and Don's team as well. I finally asked Amita as she was driving me back to CalSci, and she seemed a little… odd as I started up the conversation again, which made me realize how it could have looked. Anyway, I set about working on some projects, determined to clear my mind before the party, when Watkins showed up. He mentioned Amita and reminded me of the policy against relationships with students. I assured him that there was no relationship, and if Amita thought I was pursuing one, it was a misunderstanding. He said she hadn't made any complaints, but that 'people' are talking." Charlie growled and snatched another slice of pizza.

"It got me wondering," he continued as he started plucking mushrooms, "if I was putting out signals that I was interested in her. I needed time to think without Don and Dad pushing."

"Are you interested?" Spencer studied Charlie's face as he waited for a response.

"I don't know," Charlie sighed. "I mean, she _is _kind of hot—"

Spencer snorted. "'Kind of hot'? I've seen pictures, remember?"

"You don't think she's hot?"

"Charlie, she's extremely hot. So are plenty of women in LA that won't trash your career." Spencer took a quick sip of his sprite. "Men too, I'm sure," he added.

Charlie leaned back in his chair and stared at Spencer's ceiling, a seventies-era popcorn number. "I don't make close friends that easily, and we get along really well when we work together. I suppose I've thought maybe when she's no longer my student… But she's more likely to get a job across the country than in LA..." Charlie closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't even know if _she's _interested. Don and Dad seem to think so, but it's not like I can ask without being completely inappropriate.

"And I can't expect her to wait until she's completed her doctorate," Charlie continued. "Something so tenuous as maybe a possibility some unspecified day... if I had a shot at something more tangible, I'd take it. And, well, she _is _hot. She's going to have shots." He sighed and closed his eyes.

"So will you," Spencer said firmly. "And if there's one thing I learned at CalSci, it's that its students love to gossip about their professors. Odds are Watkins was just making sure they were only rumors. The worst thing you can do is act like you're trying to hide something."

"And if he really thinks something's there?"

"You're fully tenured. The administration needs proof to fire you." Spencer tossed his napkin onto his plate and leaned back in his chair. "But if you pursue her too soon after Ramanujan gets her doctorate, it may be seen as proof of a prior relationship. And... She'll always be your former student. A subsequent relationship may not do either of you any favors."

Charlie bit his lips thoughtfully. "There is that," he conceded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still nothing that entails a monetary claim.  
**Note: **Since Criminal Minds season one aired the Day of the Dead episode in April 2006, I decided that the episodes aired in fall 2005 took place in spring of that year. Also, I've tweaked the ages of both Reid and Charlie, as they would otherwise be five years apart.

* * *

"Dad, it's Charlie. There was a hotel glitch, and I'm going be staying with my friend, Spencer Reid, for a few days. However, my spare charger isn't, so I'm going to keep my phone off for a while. If you need me, you can call his cell...

* * *

"…However, he can be called into work at anytime, so don't call unless it's urgent. I hope things weren't too awkward for you and Dad what with me skipping out on my own party. Anyway, love you. Bye."

Don sighed and saved Charlie's voice mail before he closed his phone. He sat on the living room couch, where he had crashed for the night. Reaching for the landline, he found a similar message left for their father. Nothing about his tone suggested Charlie was coerced in any way. Still, Don felt uneasy. He knew nothing of this Reid. And while not surprised that Charlie could not charge his phone-Don suspected Charlie had really forgotten to pack the charger given how quickly he took off-he did not like Charlie being out of easy reach. If something happened, there was no way to know he gone had missing.

Short of his not returning before classes resumed.

Not that Don had any decent information to start a search with anyway. He scowled at the number he had written down. He had half a mind to go into the office and have it run through the system. See just who had snatched his brother across the country and what kind of trouble he could drag Chuck into.

"Good morning."

Don looked up as his father came down the stairs. "Morning." He turned his attention back to the coffee table.

"You know, glaring at the phone's not going to make Charlie call any sooner."

"He all ready did. Well, sent voicemail from his mailbox to both of us. Apparently, he can't charge his phone and we're to only call his friend in the case of emergency."

"It's just like Charlie to forget things," Alan grumbled as he reached the foot of the stairs. "Did he at least tell us who his friend is?"

"Yeah, Spencer Reid. Spence in your message. Never heard of him."

"Spence," his father repeated as he sat down at the table. "Spence…" Alan Eppes stared at the wall a minute before he snapped his fingers. "His MIT roommate! I haven't heard of him in years."

"I thought he had a single." Don had chosen to be unavailable to help move Charlie into the dorm, but he remembered hearing about it. Having their mother with him during his Princeton years, Charlie was excited to finally have a place of his own.

Alan snorted. "That only lasted a few of weeks. He and another doctoral candidate moved into an apartment—"

"_Doctoral candidate_?" Don asked.

His father chuckled. "Alarmed your mother and I at first, too, but this Spence turned out to be Charlie's age. We still weren't thrilled, he _was_ barely eighteen and rather sheltered, but he kept going on about how the dorm was filled with distracting people. He ranted about everything from the kid who was only there because of family pressure, to his Princeton rival's presence and everything in between. Didn't really see how living over a coffee shop would be quieter, but…" The older man shrugged. "Part of their lease with the building owner involved working in the shop, and we figured the responsibility would do him good. Besides, he didn't inform us until well past the move."

"Damn," Don leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I know Charlie and I lost touch for a while, but I didn't think it was that bad."

Alan snorted grimly. "For a while, I honestly thought that after your mother and I went, you two would never talk again."

"I'm glad that changed."

"Yeah, you're always talking about your work now."

Don started. "You think that's all we have?"

"It's a bridge. You're growing closer, but without his consulting…" His father shrugged. "After you first moved back, you two talked without real substance."

Don frowned as he slipped his phone into his back pocket. What else did he not know about his brother? He and Chuck needed to have a serious conversation when he returned. At least he could quit worrying.

Worry less. In any event, Charlie could handle the academic world.

* * *

Spencer rolled his eyes in exasperation as he read the caller ID. "Hey, Hotch," he greeted the caller. He stopped and stood on the side of one of Anacostia Park's hiking trails. Charlie stopped and waited a few feet away. "Did Haley have the baby?"

"Not yet," his superior replied, voice flustered. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You know, after the kicks…"

"Hotch, when I said you kicked like a nine year-old, I was trying to be nice and let you think you had some kicking ability. _I'm. Fine."_

"That's good," Hotch replied, sounding sour. Charlie turned to look at Spencer, the wind ruffling his curly hair. "So, did you get your friend safely checked into a hotel?"

"Actually," Spencer knew he was smirking, "I asked him to stick around for a few days. We got into an interesting discussion about using heuristics to calculate escape routes. I thought it would be fun to cobble together some equations."

"So he's at your place now?"

"No. He came to Washington to see the sights."

"That's good," Hotch replied awkwardly. "So, Smithsonian? The White House?"

"Yeah, we may work those in. I've got go. See you tomorrow." Spencer ended the call and put his phone back in his jacket pocket.

"Your side _is_ bothering you," Charlie observed as Spencer turned back to the trail. "You've been rubbing it off and on all morning."

"A little," Spencer admitted reluctantly. "It's just a few bruises, nothing worth mentioning to Hotch." And the fact that he was _not _the hiker Charlie was. Spencer started back up the hill. "He was genuinely worried about doing damage. But the kicking's not what bugs me..."

"Shooting Dowd?" Charlie asked softly, even though they were alone on this part of the trail.

"I meant about what Hotch did. He had to convince Dowd he related, so he said some things to and about me that took me back to high school. He had to—Hell, I would have_ told_ him to, if given the chance, but..." Spencer sighed and laid his hand against a tree. He stared at the roots. "He was good at it. Even knowing he didn't mean it..." Spencer turned and leaned back against the tree. He stared up at the sky. "Mrs. Meyer always said I needed to thicken my skin. It was no excuse for ignoring the bullying, but maybe she had a point. I mean, I've picked a career where emotional toughness is needed more often than physical endurance."

"'Toughness is not immunity from pain, but what you do after you're hurt'," Charlie told him gravely. Then he grinned. "At least I think that's what Larry says once you strip out the metaphors about gamma ray bursts and asteroid impacts."

Spencer laughed. Professor Fleinhardt had a unique way of imparting wisdom. The man only joined the CalSci faculty during Spencer's last year, but Spencer had talked with the man a couple times because of their mutual friendship with Charlie. Still, those conversations stuck in his mind. "Close enough, I´m sure. I´d feel tougher if I could let it go," Spencer admitted. "But it bugs me. I wish I knew why."

"Do you..." Charlie trailed off. "I know what it's like to forge a career among newbies years older, and you chose a harder vocation than I. Are you afraid there's some truth in whatever he said? That he finds you… lacking somehow?"

"He doesn't," Spencer replied more sharply than he had intended. "I might have felt that way, when he announced to the room at large that I had failed my gun quals, but he didn´t doubt that I could hit Dowd."

"Why not? I´m not trying to doubt you here, Spence, but I don´t know that much about your boss. How do you know what he was thinking?"

"I..." Spencer's brain rapidly analyzed Hotch´s behavior that night. "Dowd had his weapon on full auto. Anything less than a headshot, even if it still killed him, and his finger would have twitched the trigger. If Hotch thought I could never make the shot… His best course would have been to work at talking Dowd into surrendering so 'none of the cops could get over on him and claim they took him out´. Or something like that. But Hotch trusted me to make that shot." Spencer felt a giddy rush of pride at securing the stoic man´s trust. Aaron Hotchner fit the standard perception of G-man far more than Jason Gideon. Gideon was a great mentor, but Hotch´s confidence meant acceptance for more than his analytical abilities. Granted, said abilities were more essential to profiling than field skills, but Spencer liked being seen as capable. "Even when I didn´t. At least not until I felt his confidence and knew I couldn´t let him down."

Of course, Spencer had also felt the tall man's relief when he did make the shot. He knew Hotch's confidence was not absolute-the man had seen his last pre-qual target practice, after all. And headshots might preclude Dowd firing as he faded, but cadaveric spasm, while unlikely, could still occur.

Still, Hotch considered the odds of Spencer's making the shot better than Dowd surrendering, and put every effort into pulling the plan off. Just because Spencer would have put the odds of Dowd surrendering at zero…

_It doesn't matter, _Spencer told himself firmly. He _had_ made Hotch and Gideon proud and proved his field skills to his team.

Spencer smiled as he looked back at Charlie. "Let´s finish this hike!" He pushed off the tree and started up the hill, much happier than five minutes ago. Gideon´s ringtone filled the park.

Now he just needed to prove himself capable of selecting friends that would not ruthlessly take advantage of him.

_Honestly, _Spencer thought as he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. _You´d think a bunch of people with higher-than-average intelligence would realize that 'child prodigy´ does not mean hapless. _ A terse conversation followed, during which he gave Gideon as little information about Charlie as he could.

"You know, they might not be so curious if you told them _something _about me," Charlie observed after Spencer had ended his phone call.

"This is more fun," Spencer smirked. _Serves them right for making faulty deductions...

* * *

_

Ian made a point of arriving well before nine Monday. If he was going to be stuck with this team, he wanted to observe them first thing and get a better idea of who he was dealing with. When he walked into the bullpen area, Spencer Reid all ready sat at his desk. He appeared to be busy filling out paperwork. Sitting next to the blond genius, a man with black curls sat going over a stack of thin blue books that reminded Ian of his college days. The man absently bobbed his head to whatever music was streaming through his earbuds, while frequently sipping from a coffee mug next to him. A visitor's pass hung around his neck.

Reid glanced up. "Agent Edgerton," he greeted. "I didn´t expect to see you today." The man next to him looked up at Reid´s words and pulled the earbuds out. "Charlie, this is Ian Edgerton. He was sent to assist our team on the, um, Dowd matter." Charlie simply nodded, but the grim glint in the man´s dark eyes told Ian that this Charlie knew all about the Des Plaines case. "Agent Edgerton, this is Charlie Eppes, my grad school roommate."

Roommate? Ian raised an eyebrow at that as Charlie stood, a few inches shorter than him. Reid had painted the man as more of an acquaintance on the jet. "I presume it´s Dr. Eppes, then," Ian drawled as he took the hand Eppes extended. "Or do you prefer Professor?" he asked, nodding at the man´s stack of blue books. The top one showing the student´s progress-or lack thereof, given the red marks-through differential equations, and explanatory paragraphs.

"Either´s fine." The professor had a surprisingly firm grip as he smiled. "Charlie´s better."

"Ian." He found himself returning the other man´s smile. "So what brings you into town Professor Charlie?"

"Oh, just wanted to go somewhere for spring break, and with all the college kids descending upon Florida, I´d feel like I never left work if I went there." Charlie´s smile did not reach his eyes this time. Ian filed that away for future reference, curious about what the attractive man was hiding.

"So we´re second choice then?" he asked with mock hurt.

"No!" Charlie´s eyes flew wide open. "I just..." Charlie caught sight of Ian´s smirk, and laughed. "Har-har," he feigned disgruntlement. "No, you have some beautiful land around here, and it´s nice being able to catch up with Spence." A junior agent, not attached to the top BAU team, entered the room. Ian remembered teaching him at the academy when he went for his HRT/SWAT certification.

Unfortunately, Anderson remembered him too, and while he exchanged pleasantries, Charlie slipped off to grab some more coffee. After Anderson went on his way, Ian stepped behind Reid's chair. "You realize that your teammates thought he was at least ten years older from what little you told them on the plane?"

"Really?" Reid asked as he continued writing. "You'd think they'd be familiar with the concept of child prodigies."

Ian smiled as he watched Charlie filling his mug with regular coffee. The short man's clothes were loose enough that Ian could not tell his exact build, but the professor had a wider frame than Reid. With the fullness of his cheeks, Ian suspected the man was at least slightly pudgy. "I'd think you'd be familiar with how rare they are."

"True. But there are certain patterns to their choices of higher education. Besides…" his brown eyes darkened. "One of the cardinal rules about profiling is to be careful that pre-conceived notions don't color your view of the evidence. They ignored it at their own peril."

Ian frowned, unable to understand the disgruntlement he could hear in the young profiler´s voice. "It was just his age."

"And you made no assumptions based on the fact that I was sixteen?" Reid glanced up at Ian as he changed folders. He opened the folder, then frowned and tossed the folder onto the inbox on the neighboring desk. He muttered something Ian could not completely catch, but it seemed to be less than flattering about Agent Morgan.

Charlie arrived back at the desk. "So what do you do for the FBI?"

"I specialize in sniper training and wilderness tracking."

"Agent Edgerton," Greenaway greeted as she walked up to the trio of desks. "What brings you here?" The words were polite enough, but he knew the brunette woman had resented his addition to the sniper case.

"Whoever thought I was essential to the matter in Illinois decided I should stick with you guys until I'm cleared for full field status."

"You don't want to be here?" Greenaway's tone betrayed a sense of insult.

"When I work a case, I like to be useful. I'm no profiler."

Greenaway nodded, apparently accepting his explanation. "So who's your friend? Not a transfer?" Greenaway gestured at the visitor's pass.

"Charles Eppes," Charlie spoke before either Ian or Reid could answer. He reached out to shake her hand. "Mathematics professor. It's a pleasure to meet you Agent Greenaway. I've heard a lot about you."

"Really?" Greenaway glanced at Ian as she took the hand. "That's… nice."

"Really." Charlie grinned impishly.

"Well good to meet you, too. How long have you known Agent Edgerton?"

"Not long. A mutual friend introduced us recently." The edges of Ian's mouth twitched as he suppressed his laughter at Charlie's response.

"What's going on over here?" Morgan asked as he strolled over. "Edgerton," he nodded in greeting. Then he turned to Charlie and held out his hand. "Derek Morgan."

"Charlie-"

"PROFESSOR EPPES!" A blond-haired rainbow rushed across the bullpen. She tossed a stack of folders onto Greenaway's desk and took Charlie's hand. "It's such an honor to have you here! Are you helping out on a case? I thought you did most of your consulting for the LA office these days. Well, FBI consulting anyway. There are rumors on the Cal-Sci message boards that you work with other alphabet soups, but—Oh, sorry!" The woman dropped Charlie's hand and gestured at her chest. "Penelope Garcia. You were my Intro to Combinatorics professor when I returned to Cal-Sci, and you left quite an impression. Besides the whole novelty of a twenty year-old professor, you have a _fantastic_ lecture style. Amazingly easy to learn from, and totally boosted the speed at which I taught myself coding theory. Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

"So what are you doing here?" Garcia asked.

Charlie smiled. "I'm just visiting Spence." Greenaway looked sharply at Reid.

"You know Reid? I thought he graduated before—"

"Not funny guys!" Greenaway hissed.

"I thought it was," Ian chuckled.

"What's not funny?" Morgan asked.

"I never said anything untrue," Charlie replied innocently. "Spence did introduce me to Agent Edgerton recently. Very recently."

"What would be funny about that?" Garcia asked.

"I think we're missing something, Baby Girl," Morgan commented.

"I was talking to Charlie when Greenaway arrived. She asked how we knew each other."

Greenaway glared at Ian. "I—"

"Guys we have a priority case," Jareau called as she and Hotchner walked out of Hotchner's office. Ian blinked, he had not seen them arrive. Hotchner knocked on the adjacent door. Gideon's office, if Ian remembered correctly. Morgan and Greenaway headed off to the side.

"Sorry, Charlie," Reid said as he stood and opened his desk drawer. "I guess the tour'll have to wait."

"That's fine. I can keep myself busy in DC. We never got that replacement charger for my phone, and the Smithsonian sounded like a good idea."

"You don't have a charger?" Garcia asked.

"Not one that's working. I guess the one I brought was my spare for a reason."

"I might be able to lend you one. The tech department has all sorts of odds and ends. What kind—"

"Charlie," Reid cut in, holding something out to the other man. "Spare key in case we have to leave town. You remember my alarm code?"

"It's a number, Spence."

"Right." Reid nodded, then hurried off in the direction Morgan and Greenaway had.

Ian hurried after him, as Hotchner had neglected to tell him where the team briefed their cases. "What was that about?"

Reid looked at him puzzled. "What was what about?"

"What your friend said about your alarm code being a number?"

Reid shrugged as reached the door of a small conference room. "Charlie remembers numbers," he said simply as he slipped inside and took a seat around a round table.

"Like an eidetic memory?" Ian asked as he followed. The rest of the team looked his way.

"Only for numbers," Reid answered.

"Agent Edgerton will be joining us for the next couple weeks," Hotchner said as Jareau started handing out files. "Baltimore has called us in on a string of missing persons…"

—


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these worlds, just this non-cannon tale.**  
Note: **Since Criminal Minds season one aired the Day of the Dead episode in April 2006, I decided that the episodes aired in fall 2005 took place in the spring of that year. Also, I've tweaked the ages of both Reid and Charlie, as they would otherwise be five years apart.

* * *

"Dad, it's Charlie. The problem turned out to be the charging port in my phone, so I went ahead and upgraded to a new model. Call my cell, not Spence´s if you need anything. Otherwise, I´ll see you in a few days. Love you, bye."

Charlie turned his phone off, and then walked back into the restaurant. Their tea had arrived while he had been outside. "That was fast," Spencer said casually as Charlie slipped into the seat across him.

"Dad should be at his book club," Charlie said as he poured himself some tea. "I just wanted to make sure he wouldn't bother you. And Don… well after that voicemail, I was only going to text him, anyway."

"Which one?"

Charlie scowled sourly at Spencer's amused tone. "They're all the same." _Just a dozen different ways for Don to say it_, Charlie thought. "So what's Edgerton´s story?" he asked. "You know much about him?"

"Anything in particular you want to know?" Spencer asked with a smirk.

Charlie shrugged as he took a sip of tea. "Not really. It just seems we should have had a longer conversation."

Spencer chuckled. "Isn't that the same thing you said about Stephen ten minutes before you two asked each other out?"

Charlie glared at his friend.

Spencer ignored the look. "He teaches sniper tactics and marksmanship at the academy and is one of the best shots in the country. An expert at wilderness tracking, he works fugitive recovery when the academy's not in session. He's good enough at what he does that he usually enjoys the luxury of choosing the cases he feels he'd be most useful on. He doesn't have a partner, which has led to a lone wolf reputation, but he isn't anti-social. He always works well with the local field offices and never hesitates to request whatever resources are required. He doesn't want to deal with the type of cases my team does regularly, but he's excellent at reading people, so he could. He's a talented artist, and I think he has some form of eidetic memory."

Charlie blinked at that last. "Oh?"

Spencer nodded. "I caught a glimpse of his sketch pad on the plane. He was drawing the airport park from memory. Very detailed memory, with more lifelike skill than I could ever manage."

"Your sketches are better than you give yourself credit for." Not that Charlie expected Spencer to suddenly listen.

"Trust me, Edgerton´s skill is exceptional. And though he doesn't advertise it, he takes pride in it. He pays for quality materials, he goes for the brands that are most likely to hold up under traveling, and takes care when packing them into his bag."

Charlie nodded, knowing better than to question Spencer on anything drawing-related. "And do you know if he…"

"Contrary to what Morgan seems to think, I don't care about my coworkers' sex lives or preferences," Spencer replied dryly. "Edgerton _has _paid attention to everything the team's asked and said about you, but I wouldn't read anything more into it than trying to suss out the team dynamics."

"Makes sense," Charlie said, shoving disappointment aside. With ninety percent of the world straight, the odds were against Edgerton even liking men, much less Charlie's type. "He wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes."

"Actually," Spencer frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think he'd hesitate, if he felt it necessary. But I do think he'd want to make each and every stomped toe _count_."

"That sounds a little Machiavellian," Charlie commented, taken aback.

Spencer shrugged. "He takes his job seriously and isn't the type to suffer foolish wastes of time. That said, he wouldn't argue calls he disagreed with if he respects the agent's expertise and abilities. And he gives everyone a chance to prove themselves. Not that he won't come across as challenging as he gives you that chance."

The arrival of the soup interrupted their conversation. Spencer muttered his thanks to the server and changed topics before Charlie could continue his questioning. "So, you and Garcia seemed to get along well."

Charlie chuckled. "She's… perkier than the student I remember, and more relaxed with herself." Charlie stirred his soup to cool it. "Larry´ll be glad to hear it." Spencer blinked up from his food. "He was her academic advisor," Charlie explained before Spencer could ask. "He said her parents´ death had hit her hard and worried that it taken something out of her. I think I understand what he meant now.

"And," Charlie added. "I think she and Amita would get along like thieves. Garcia´s ideas about Combinatorics… Even if she never pursues a doctorate, she should develop them. And given the direction Amita´s thesis is going… I _have_ to put the two of them in contact. The things they could come up with deserve to be thought up."

"Sounds like quite the conversation."

"Until the rest of your team finally got there, and she needed to work."

Spencer scowled. "Can't say it would have been better to fly across the country with the team and been stuck in the local prescient or field office for the duration, but I hated being told Hotch and I would teleconference from the BAU. Not that I like the road trips involved in local consults—two team members tied up with driving the SUVs, while the rest of us try to review the case. It's bad enough talking over a cell's speakerphone in a moving vehicle, but I hate sitting _that _still." He sighed and took a spoonful of his soup. "At least the team's willing to accept that I don't want to be distracted thinking of the case while driving."

"You don't discuss it while you drive?"

Spencer chuckled. "I don't drive. There are plenty on the team that like to do it. As deep a thinker as you are, I wouldn't think you'd like the distraction of driving, either."

Charlie frowned at his bowl. "I don't have a license. Remember?"

"Still?" The surprise in Spencer's voice grated. "Look, if your family stresses you that much, pay for lessons. That place in Pasadena I went to was wonderful."

"It's not just that."

"_That_ was nearly ten years ago, and not your fault." Charlie shrugged and took a spoonful of his soup as Spencer continued, "I've been wanting to visit LA. I can always come along for moral support."

Charlie frowned as he swallowed the soup. It was not bad, but did it not quite match the flavors he had come to expect. "I think we both can come up with better things to do. Including treating you to some _real _Chinese…"

* * *

Spencer sighed and dropped the marker onto the table. He had read through all the e-mails that Garcia had managed to retrieve from the missing mens' systems and found a set of printouts that had a consistent writing style. They had a different name and e-mail address for each victim, but they were clearly the same writer. Spencer had just finished marking up the proof.

He looked up as Hotch entered the conference room. "Lewis´ hunch was right," Spencer spoke without preamble. "These men had more in common besides a past employer. In the weeks leading up to their disappearance, they were all wooed by the same online acquaintance. This individual is a chameleon, changing hobbies and gender based on each man's tastes and preferences. The e-mails would feel genuine to a casual reader. But deeper analysis reveals otherwise." Spencer hastily stacked the printouts and handed them to Hotch.

"Good work, Reid," Hotch replied as he started looking through the stack. He pulled the chair next to Spencer out from the round table and sat down. "Did you find any evidence of contact between the victims?"

"No."

Hotch nodded as he continued flipping through the stack. "The employment can't be a fluke, even though there's no overlap with the employment times or departments.

Spencer nodded. "I know, but there's nothing yet." He picked up his coffee mug and chugged the last of the now-cold sugared coffee. "I also found no e-mails, IMs or texts about a meeting place, which implies they were lured over the phone or in person."

Hotch looked up at that. "So a team?" he asked. "Or someone who can pass themselves off as the opposite sex?"

"That's easier said than done. Unless the individual in question has an androgynous bone structure, there tend to be subtle differences that people pick up on up close."

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "But not necessarily over the phone… A midrange voice, and an isolated meeting spot… All these men were young and fairly fit. They might not think to be cautious when meeting someone they think they know for the first time."

Spencer agreed. With nothing else to say, he just nodded his head.

"Have you shared your results with the team, yet?"

"No. I had just finished the analysis when you walked in." He stood and grabbed his coffee mug. "I'm going to grab some more coffee. Would like anything?"

"I'm good," Hotch said as Spencer walked to the conference room door. "Reid," he called as Spencer touched the door. Spencer turned to face him. "Relax. They just want to give us chance to talk through what happened. Being held at gunpoint, shooting someone… It can have an impact."

"I know. I'm glad your session went well."

Spencer left the room before Hotch could say anything else. He actually felt relief from Hotch´s assurance, though he had known all along the reasoning behind the Bureau's shooting procedure. Still, Spencer did not feel particularly eager to talk.

At least not beyond what he opened up to Charlie about.

And not to someone who could declare him unfit for the field.

Spencer sighed and rubbed his head with his left hand as he poured the coffee into his mug with his right. He knew the meeting with the psych was not a status evaluation, but his uncertainty with everything he felt about the shooting made him uneasy. The session was supposed to help him work that out, but… he supposed that he did want to face any unpleasant surprises in the session. Spencer put the pot away and grabbed the sugar.

To top things off, Spencer was all ready scheduled for his gun rectification. He knew, even before the Dowd mess, that Hotch had nailed it when he attributed Spencer's failure to a subconscious reluctance to shoot to kill if necessary. But he also knew the nerves he got before his gun tests could just as easily be impacted by the shooting. He did not want people saying Dowd was a fluke. Sure, Spencer had sniped about it himself. But Hotch had deserved the crack for what he had said, even if he had had to say it. Spencer did not want anyone saying such things seriously.

And he really did not want those nerves impacting his psych interview.

Spencer glanced at the clock. As much as he dreaded the upcoming session, he also wished it were over.

At least he was able to do something useful while waiting for it. Spencer grabbed his mug and walked back to the conference room. Though if he had been completely benched, at least he could have given Charlie that tour they were hoping for Monday. With a sigh, he entered the room, ready to dig back into the case.

* * *

Charlie sat in the Courtyard Café and smiled at the latest text from Don. Don was clearly still pissed and more than a little overprotective. Charlie conceded that Don did have _some _point. It was important to let people know where you were going. But Don seemed to think Charlie needed his permission to take a trip. And from references to "academic bubbles" and "fellow eggheads", he had clearly made erroneous assumptions about Spence. He smirked as he locked his phone and put it back in his pocket. What Don did not know, would only prove more amusing later on.

Charlie turned back to his coffee and sandwich, debating what to do with the rest of the day. It had been a while since he had been to DC, much less visited the Smithsonian Museums, so he could easily spend the rest of the afternoon and tomorrow walking through them. Yet he felt restless. He had gotten used to jumping into any FBI cases in progress whenever he visited Don. As a friend, he should be concerned with what Spence was going through—and he was—but he also felt left out.

Charlie was not completely comfortable with that realization. Or the things it could say about him.

Well, nothing he could do about this case. He did not know Spence´s boss from Adam, and any mathematical applications he could provide, Spence could.

Well, most applications.

That bookstore adjacent to Spencer's apartment said they had free wireless, and had some benches outside. Perhaps he would spend the afternoon downloading stats for a few ideas he had running through his head.

As the breeze picked up, Charlie took another bite of his sandwich. Just as he bit it off, his phone rang. He hastily chewed as he pulled the phone to check the number. Spence. Charlie washed the food down with a gulp of his coffee. "Spence. What's up?" He asked as he glanced around. None of the other customers looked disturbed by his conversation.

"Talked to the Bureau shrink about the Dowd mess and got my gun back," the younger genius replied sounding lighter than he had that morning. "Can't say I was eager about either the interview or the retest, much less back-to-back. But the session did help me work through the shooting some more. Which makes sense given the statistics, and I knew that, but—Anyway, it's done and I nailed my gun quals."

"Good for you!" Charlie could not help but grin. "I knew you could do it." Then he frowned. "I thought you couldn't retest until next week."

"They made an exception in light of my hitting Dowd." Spence´s tone dropped. "I think Hotch was behind it. He wasn't surprised when I told him it had been scheduled, and he's in a position to remind people that a show of confidence after a traumatic case can help."

"You don't sound happy about that."

Spence sighed audibly into the phone. "I'm glad to have my gun back, but sometimes I feel that my career's been a series of exceptions. They let me into the Academy below the minimum age based on my academic achievements. Then I got into the BAU with less than the minimum field experience. I do feel I'm where I belong, and have made the most of the opportunities they've given me, but sometimes I think all the Bureau sees is my big brain."

Charlie snorted. "If that's all they wanted, they'd have made you a consultant. Obviously, they thought you had potential as an agent."

"Thanks," Spence replied. "Anyway, Baltimore PD got a promising tip, so our involvement's on hold until they run it down, if you still want to tour the academy?"

"Of course I do," Charlie answered. "But are you sure it's all right? It's the middle of the workday, not early morning. "

Spence laughed lightly. "Anybody who wants to give us trouble will run into your security clearance, and I do my share of the work."

"So what time should I come down?"

* * *

Don scowled as he read Charlie's terse text. At least he knew Charlie was all right. The message was typical of Charlie in a snit, and he would not have used that language if he were under duress. Though Don still intend to talk to Charlie about the importance of keeping people informed of his travel schedule _before _he traveled. Don shoved the phone into his pocket and turned his attention to David's brief of the bank robbery/homicide: a straight-up robbery gone bad, and the guy was not the brightest bulb in the box of criminals. Apparently no one had told him that a clear (if pale blue) plastic bag over his head did not make an adequate disguise, and the security cameras got a good view of his face. Once they circulated the images to the media, they should get plenty of leads.

"It gets better," David continued. "He put his 'mask' on in the vestibule. Not only did the highly visible camera there catch his non-'covered' face, it showed him place a deposit envelope in the drop. The manager's emptied it for us. We have a few different names to run down, but it should not take us long."

It took Don a minute to absorb the news. The nature of the cases his team specialized in meant they did not often get the dumber criminal element. It made solving the case easier, but unfortunately for the federal prosecutor who had spooked the gunman by walking out of the restroom at the wrong time, stupid crime could still be deadly.

"Such a waste," David commented as Don's gaze drifted over to where the ME zipped the woman's body into the bag.

"You got that right."

* * *

Spencer smirked as he ended the call and put his cell back into his pocket. He stepped back through the doors to the BAU. He stopped just inside the door, and scanned the room. Spencer quickly spotted his target firmly occupied at the computer he had snagged to check e-mail. Spencer strode directly to him. He tried to calm his excess energy; Spencer knew his tendency to twitch with too much caffeine made him look timid.

Come to think of it, he should make a habit of not drinking so much coffee before his gun qualifications.

"Agent Edgerton," Spencer said softly. "We need to talk."

Edgerton pushed away from the desk and leaned back in his office chair. "Do we?" he asked dryly, with a raised eyebrow. "About what?"

"Charlie." Spencer folded his arms over his chest to keep his hands still. "And all the little questions you've paid attention to since yesterday. Is that just your way to get a hold of the team dynamics, or are you interested for other reasons?"

Edgerton's eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"Like two years ago I saw you on a date with the red-haired Michael from Counterterrorism." Edgerton's posture stiffened and his expression hardened. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw Morgan stand and turn their way. "Charlie's bi," Spencer quickly continued before Morgan could make his way over. The last thing this conversation needed was _his _input. "Single, and going to be here within an hour for me to give him a tour of the academy. If you're attached or not interested, this conversation never happened. Otherwise, you can come along. But if you do anything to hurt him, you'll find that I'm not just highly intelligent, Agent Edgerton. I'm creative enough that I can make your life… interesting and you'll never prove a thing."

Edgerton stared at Spencer a moment with no change in expression. Then just before Morgan reached ear-range, Edgerton broke into a grin in chuckled. "It's a pity _you're _blatantly straight," he said as he picked up the coffee mug on his desk.

Reid blinked and glanced down at himself. Of all the comments he had received over the years about his manner or dress sense, that was unique. Not that he was not straight, but _blatantly _so? _Wait, pity? Does that mean he—_

"While Charlie made an impression, and might be my type, if you knew when and how Michael and I ended, you'd probably want to wait a few months before offering me your friend—if at all."

"Charlie makes his own decisions," Spencer snapped. "I don't _offer _him to anyone. I'm just trying to determine what your interest might be, and give you a chance to get to know him." He frowned and tilted his head. "Things ended badly?"

"For me," Edgerton answered, a tinge of raw honesty to his voice. "I'm not out to hurt anyone, though if your friend's looking for serious, we might want to stick to becoming friends this afternoon."

Edgerton stood and strolled over to the break room as Morgan reached them. "What's going on?"

"Private conversation." Spencer turned and walked to his desk. After all, if the commuter trains were running on schedule, he had time to do one simple analysis. He grabbed the relevant file and ignored Morgan's attempts to further question him.

* * *

"It doesn't bother you?"

"What?" Aaron looked up from his desk at Gideon. The older man stood staring out the window of Aaron's office at the bullpen. His eyes followed Reid as he left the floor with his friend Charlie, and for some reason, Ian Edgerton.

"Reid's evasiveness about his friend. It's not like him."

"His grad school days were closer to the typical undergrad age. He probably doesn't want embarrassing stories floating about the office when he all ready feels pressure to prove he belongs here."

"Reid's not the type to have experimented with drugs or alcohol," Gideon said firmly. "He's way to smart."

Intelligence and drugs were not mutually exclusive in Aaron's experience, though Aaron was inclined to say that Reid wouldn't have tried anything other than alcohol. "Trust me, my most embarrassing college days had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol." Well, four out of five, but Aaron was not about to tell Gideonthat. "And no, you're never learning what they are."

Gideon just grunted as he continued to stare out the office window.

* * *

I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Real life's a hassle sometimes, and I flat-out screwed up when I made my original outline.


End file.
